


Idolatry

by BranwellBronte



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Gore, Knife Kink, Knives, M/M, Pain Kink, Power Bottom, Scratching, Stabbing, just a lot of blood tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BranwellBronte/pseuds/BranwellBronte
Summary: Tozer wants Hickey and his knife. https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=1164#cmt1164





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Преклонение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18266450) by [Redhat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redhat/pseuds/Redhat), [Xarleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xarleth/pseuds/Xarleth)



            “I’m not him,” Tozer says as they lean against a sledge after a day’s hauling. He nods his chin at Gibson, who is out of earshot, adjusting his Welsh wig and huddling into himself as the wind picks up. “And it’s not just because he left you.”

Hickey raises an eyebrow as he lights his cigarette. Tozer curses himself. “What I mean is, I’ll be better than he ever was. All the times you were together? One time with me and you’ll forget _all_ of them.” He cups a hand around Hickey’s cigarette as the wind blows straight through them. Hickey still hasn’t looked at him, has his eyes on some point in the distance. The wind stills. It’s blown strands of his hair across his eyes and Tozer feels nearly in pain as he resists fixing them.

            Hickey hasn’t lifted a finger to clear the strands away as he smokes. They stand in silence for uncountable minutes. Just as Tozer has sighed and prepared a, “I’ll be back to work now, but let me talk with you again later,” spiel, Hickey taps out his cigarette and smiles as he turns to face Tozer.

            “You don’t know the words yet, Mr. Tozer. They’re not ‘I’m better than him.’ When you figure them out, perhaps I’ll consider your generous offer.”

            The next day, as the flame is lit. “Anything you ask. I’ll do it. I’m yours.”

            A breath of smoke. “I’m terribly afraid to say that you’re not even close, Mr. Tozer.”

            A week. The wind biting. “I don’t know the words. Please. I want you. Take me. You don’t know how much I want you.”

            Hickey raises both eyebrows and blows out smoke. “Do I not, Mr. Tozer? Do I truly not?”

            Tozer stubs his boot toe into the gravel and closes his eyes, head falling back against the sledges side. “I don’t know the words. Just let me give you this.”

            Hickey smokes peacefully, eyes still on that distant point. “You sound dejected, Mr. Tozer. Perhaps you give up easily.”

            Tozer clenches his nails into his palms and fights back a scream. This insufferable bastard. Damn him to hell. And yet.

“I won’t give up,” he says in a half-cracked voice. Then he turns his back and makes his way to the others setting up the tents, not avoiding stepping on the side of Gibson’s foot as he passes him, though.

            The flaps to Hickey’s tent are open this evening, the Arctic sun still glaring down and making long shadows of Tozer’s boots as he pauses before the tent. Without making a noise, he hears, in a calm voice, “Come in, Mr. Tozer.”

            Hickey is lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling of the tent. Tozer stands over him, fingers flexing. “I’m here.”

            No reply.

            Irritation bites all his nerves, then ignites them into one hissing fire. He won’t be treated this way, not even by Hickey. He plants his feet firmer. “I’m _here_. I don’t know the words, I don’t know why you won’t take me, but I’m _not_ leaving until you tell me why. We’re at the arse end of the world and there’s a human man with warm blood and a warm body saying he wants you. Why aren’t you fucking me already? What’s wrong with me? Am I not as handsome as he is? Is that it? Does it matter anymore if I’m not handsome enough? You don’t have to look at my face to fuck me. You can fuck me all night with the lamps out, tie the tent flaps tight so no light gets in, I’ll get on my knees and suck you or you can fuck me from behind or I’ll sit on you and face away from you and ride you for hours and god damn it, that’s enough variety for a lifetime of fucking. So tell me why you don’t want me, don’t want to fuck me endlessly, don’t want someone who wants you. Tell me _the fuck_ why.” He tries not to show how he’s fighting to keep his breathing steady as anxiety clenches his stomach. What has he done?

            Hickey waits a few moments, then elbows himself up and tilts his head at Tozer. “This is interesting,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak to me this angrily before, Mr. Tozer. Is there anything else you want to say to me?”

            Tozer grits his teeth even though that makes his breath louder as he huffs out, “Stop calling me ‘ _Mr. Tozer.’_ I have a first name. It’s not ‘Billy’ but you’ll get used to it if you say it enough. _Solomon_. Say it.”

            Hickey keeps his head to the side but his chin tilts up. “And if I don’t? What then?”

            Fuck him. Fuck it all. Tozer gets on his knees next to Hickey’s face. “I won’t fuck you. I’ll fuck _with_ you. You won’t give me straight answers? Then forget getting them from me. You want my help? You have to help me back. If I need something? Then you give it to me because _I’m here_ with you. I have my neck in a noose if Crozier catches me so you _damn well_ better value me. No talking down to me, no side-stepping what I say to you. I talk. You listen. I ask. You provide. You’re our leader? Well there is _no leader_ without _followers_. If I’m on my knees bowing to you, then you should be on your knees thanking me. You can tell me to go fuck myself. I don’t care.” He leans his face within an inch of Hickey’s tilted chin. “But you’ve fucked with me enough, and if you keep it up, I’ll return the favor.”

            He hisses these last words to the best of his ability and doesn’t move his face. Hickey’s eyes are blank as they hold Tozer’s gaze. Then they crinkle at the corners. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, the shining steel in them is cut fine and to measure.

            “Well then, Solomon. Do you want to return the favor right now?”

            Tozer feels a coil of something in his stomach. It feels like he knows he’s made a bad decision but something glorious will happen before he wakes up and regrets his actions. He tilts his head to the opposite angle of Hickey’s as if to kiss him but makes no move to close the gap between their mouths. “I finally said the right words, did I?”

            Hickey scoffs and makes a pitying face at Tozer. “There were never any right words. I only wanted to see if you were capable of being provoked. Some men aren’t, and it’s disappointing. But look at you now.” He tips his head until his lips are a hairsbreadth from Tozer’s. “The man I’d hoped you’d be. Shall we celebrate?”

            And somehow tiny Cornelius Hickey has grabbed broad-shouldered Royal Marine Solomon Tozer and wrenched him around so that his back is flush with Hickey’s chest. And then the knifepoint is under Tozer’s chin and Tozer gasps out, “Oh, god, _finally_ ,” as his cock hardens and Hickey lowers him to the ground.

***

            The tent flaps are tied, their shirts are off, and the first scratch of the knife tip can’t come soon enough.

            “How did you guess that I like blood?” he manages, heart beating wilder than a spooked horse, as Hickey keeps the knife steady at Tozer’s throat with one hand and uses the other to unbutton Tozer’s trousers and then yank his underclothes down.

            “Guess?” The knife still doesn’t move as Hickey unbuttons himself. “There are things that you guess and things that you know. When I looked at you after I was flogged, you were licking your lips. Don’t you think that tells you something about a man?”

            Tozer laughs breathily. “I had dreams at night. Of touching all over your arse and getting my hands all bloody. You were never in any pain when I did it.”

            “How very thoughtful of your mind. Spit on your hand and rub yourself with it.”

            Tozer keeps laughing as he does what he’s told and it’s only when Hickey removes the knife from his throat and crouches over him that Tozer realizes what’s happening.

            His heart kicks. “You want to be on me? Why?” It’s goddamn cold even with the tent flaps tied shut and the blankets Hickey has laid out, but Tozer feels a burning in his stomach, and it’s not unpleasant. Not at all. “Is this something he never did with you? Never let you ride him? Is that why I have the honor?”

            “Not especially, no,” Hickey says as he gets on his knees over Tozer. “I think it would be enjoyable. And there’s something very satisfying about holding this knife over your chest while you’re flat on your back.” He twirls it expertly between his fingers. “And I’ve become fond of showing this knife a good time.”

            As Hickey maneuvers himself, the knife in his hand has turned sideways and is not too far from his hard cock. Tozer basks in the sight, nearly whimpering. A knife blade near a big, bare, hard cock. It’s a fantasy come true, oh god, he feels like he could spill long before Hickey does. Hickey’s hair is falling into his face again and Tozer reaches up before he can help himself. Hickey immediately smacks his hand away, lifts the knife, and whips his arm behind his back, the knife tip landing on Tozer’s thigh.

            “We’ve yet to see if you’ll be allowed that,” he says softly as Tozer writhes under him, little waves of ecstasy nearly paralyzing him despite, or maybe because, there’s a knife point near one of his arteries.

            Hickey holds the moment for a few beats, eyes locked firmly with Tozer’s. Tozer wonders whether Hickey will leave a scratch on his thigh and his heart sinks slightly when Hickey moves his arm forward again and places the knife tip in the hollow of Tozer’s throat. “Let’s start with this.”

            Tozer watches the blade, so close to his face. “Are we playing a game?”

            Hickey shrugs mildly. “Not particularly. I’ve found that, ‘If it feels right, do it as long as possible,’ has become a successful way of living. Is that a method you’re interested in?”

            Tozer is nearly panting. “Do you even have to ask?”

            Hickey taps the knife point and Tozer groans. “Of course. I have to know how much a man pities me. If he’s loath to see me bleeding again, then what good is he?”

            Tozer is quietly moved in an unexpected way. “No one would ever have guessed. You don’t like whips, but you like knives. Did Gibson guess?”

            Hickey stops tapping the knife and sighs airily. “Do you want to talk about Mr. Gibson or do you want to fuck and possibly see one or the both of us bleed? Possibly quite a lot?”

            Tozer breathes in deeply so that his chest raises up and the knife rises with his movement. “I hope you sharpened that knife recently.”

            “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop talking and start fucking already.”

            Tozer doesn’t need to be told twice. He wraps his fingers around Hickey’s hips and guides him over his cock. Tozer is sizeable so it takes a few moments but Hickey’s grip on the knife doesn’t slacken. He sighs deeply and smiles with that tilted head as he moves inch by inch further down on Tozer. Tozer pulls Hickey’s hips down rougher than before and Hickey gives him a half-smile as he pushes himself down. Then, miraculously, Sergeant Solomon Tozer of the Royal Marines is balls deep inside Cornelius Hickey, and said Sergeant Tozer, who has fucked plenty of back alley boys, has never felt harder or more desperate to fuck anyone in his life. And said Cornelius Hickey, while adjusting his body on Sergeant Tozer’s cock, draws a circle with the knife tip in the hollow of Tozer’s throat. Hickey could ram it straight through Tozer’s neck and Tozer would die happy being knifed by the man he’s fucking, in a sticky spreading pool of his own blood. God, that’d be _the_ way to go.

            Hickey keeps a calm face but Tozer can tell that he’s in pleasure. He feels so tight around Tozer’s cock that Tozer hopes he’s filling Hickey up entirely, stretching him, giving him what Gibson never did. Or could. It doesn’t really matter. This is happening. Hickey’s cock is so beautiful, thick and with a large head. Tozer reaches out and strokes it. It’s velvet smooth and the slit is already wet and Hickey makes a noise in his throat, a kind of moaning hum. Then he takes the knife and slashes a small, shallow scratch across Tozer’s chest just below his neck.

            Tozer jerks upwards as he sees the red line grow redder and tiny dots of blood rise. It’s painful but god is it a good fucking pain. He barely has time to bask in it before Hickey smoothly collects the blood on the tip of his finger and tongues it off, never breaking his gaze with Tozer. Tozer whimpers at the sight of his blood on Hickey’s tongue. This feels like a ritual that pagans might have practiced hundreds of years ago. He decides to be a pagan right now because God has given him fuck-all in life besides a position with a fancy uniform. Cornelius Hickey on his cock and licking his blood belongs to a paradise far, far better than Eden.  

            Hickey finishes licking his thumb and puts his hand back down on Tozer’s chest. “I’m going to move now. If you use your prick well, then you’ll get pricked yourself.”

            Tozer caresses Hickey’s hipbones. “Promise me.”

            Hickey rolls his eyes. “Am I letting you down right now?”

            Tozer huffs out in annoyance. “I don’t know, are you going to move on my fucking cock or do I have to do all the work myself?” Tozer grabs Hickey’s hips and thrusts up. He feels a thrill down his spine as Hickey grunts and pauses at that, saying nothing, but he gives Tozer a small laugh. He circles the knife gently around one of Tozer’s nipples and then gently rests the side of the blade on it. Tozer has always liked his nipples touched and his neck arches involuntarily as Hickey uses Tozer’s chest as leverage to slide up and down his cock. Tozer’s annoyance disappears like the last of grains of sand through an hourglass as he squeezes his eyes shut while Hickey slowly begins to ride him.

It’s the first time Tozer has fucked a man since a few days before boarding Terror and he could cry in gratitude to his pagan idols but he forces the tears back inside. He uses the energy instead to move his hips up enough to find a syncing rhythm with Hickey. He feels shivers of pleasure down his spine and from the scratch on his chest, but Hickey keeps the knife firmly out of reach as he lifts up on his knees and settles down again. Tozer knows he could come in good time from this alone but his eyes are glued to the knife as the blade rises up and down, up and down, up and down. What is he not doing right for Hickey to slash him again?

Oh.

He’s known what gives a man a uniquely exquisite pleasure, but with the back alley boys, he’s never really cared enough to try to give it to them. If it happened, so be it, and if not, the boy got paid anyway.

Hickey must see the change of expressions on his face because his finger is suddenly on Tozer’s lips, the knife sideways across them. “Are you going to do well?”

Fuck, yes he is. Tozer bucks up at a new angle and hears Hickey’s breathing change. He changes the angle slightly on the next stroke, hears Hickey’s breathing go almost ragged, and then on the third stroke Hickey gasps, his shoulders jerking, and then he brings the knife down and pierces Tozer’s skin.

The cut lands near his right nipple, the pain concentrated at first before it radiates out along Tozer’s whole body. It shortens his breath for a moment and soon the cut is aching but it’s a glorious ache, as good as the aching he feels as Hickey clenches harder around him. Tozer turns his head sideways to look at the scratch, the drops of blood rising in a small dome, and the sight is so arousing that he bucks into Hickey even harder and then suddenly there’s a scratch down the middle of his chest.

“Oh gods,” he whispers, because there must be more than one god to have bestowed such a generous blessing upon him. This scratch is deeper than the first one and shallower than the piercing but the pain is still stimulating and he arches his back and thrusts up as hard as he can into Hickey.

But the knife doesn’t fall this time. He looks up in confusion. Hickey has the knife pulled back into the air again but he keeps it away from Tozer as he keeps fucking himself up and down. His eyes are opening and closing but he somehow manages, in his bizarre Cornelius fucking Hickey way, to keep his smile steady.

“You didn’t truly think,” he says softly between small gasps, “that I’d cut you up every time you did well?”

Tozer’s face crumples and he slows his hips, then slows them further, then stops bucking them altogether. “You said if I did well then I’d get pricked.”

“Aren’t you pricked?”

“You said-”

Hickey ghosts a smile at him and tilts his goddamn head again. “ _What_ did I say?”

There was no promise. Tozer hisses again. “Bastard.”

Hickey shrugs a shoulder. “Most of the time.” He rises enough so that he’s on the tip of Tozer’s cock, holds a moment, and then releases himself from Tozer completely. Tozer makes a noise of surprised disgust before Hickey grabs his shoulders and in one movement, rough and graceful at the same time, is lying flat on his back with Tozer hauled on top of him. He throws both hands around Tozer’s back and Tozer doesn’t need directions to grip Hickey’s legs and lift them over his shoulders. Tozer is moaning in earnest, both from the shock of his warm body hitting another and the feel of Hickey guiding his cock back inside. But he feels this is the only way he can possibly exist at this moment as he feels the knife point between his shoulder blades.

“Move,” Hickey says.

Tozer does.

Hickey breathes heavily through his teeth and slashes the skin of Tozer’s back. Tozer gasps and twitches from side to side as he pictures the blood immediately rising and he grips Hickey’s shoulders and thrusts his hips further inside him. Hickey hisses, jabs Tozer, who hisses back, and the two of them are bucking together and probably making far too much noise. But fuck it, fuck noise, fuck Gibson, fuck anything that isn’t knives and blood and cocks and holes and this tent, this house of pagan worship, it’s still goddamn cold but it’s protection from the awful glares of the sun and other men’s judgement.

Hickey roams the knife around Tozer’s back, scratching at first, then slashing, and that’s how Tozer suspects Hickey’s getting close. The pain bites, like what he imagines lying naked on ice must feel like, then burns, then bites again. He’s going to have a labyrinth of scars and they’re going to be so beautiful. He pulls himself up far enough to see Hickey’s face. His eyes are open and his hair is askew across his forehead and Tozer aches in his heart and then he aches everywhere and it’s too much, it’s just enough, and he thrusts in Hickey with wild abandon, not holding back his desire to come. Hickey abruptly brings his head up and knocks it against Tozer’s while scratching a line and the sudden pain, simultaneously pulsing in his forehead and his back, is all it takes for Tozer to cry raggedly as the pleasure gathers finally to the pinnacle and he comes.

Hickey comes a moment later and stabs Tozer, deep, on one cheek of his arse.

***

            “Here?”

            “No. Maybe over-”

            “Don’t touch me.” Hickey twirls the knife between his fingers. “Just point.”

            Tozer drops his hand and quashes a hum of frustration. He and this man have just fucked but, “Don’t touch me”? Damn it. Fine.

            Tozer considers. Hickey is as pale as un-veined marble. Where would red suit him best? Probably anywhere, even his throat for only allowing Tozer one cut on him while Tozer’s entire torso probably makes him look like he’s a dead soldier on the field of Waterloo, still dripping in blood like someone has wrung a human heart over his back.

            A heart.

            “There,” Tozer says, pointing within an inch away from Hickey’s heart. “Cut.”

            They’re lying on their sides on a blanket, still naked, Tozer unable to sit because of the stab Hickey gave him on his arse. “Now you can live your dream,” he’d said lightly as Tozer had finally pulled out of him. “Get blood from an arse cheek all over your hand.”

            “That wasn’t my dream, you prick. My dream was that I’d touch you and get _your_ blood all over my hands.”

            Hickey had gazed up at the ceiling. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement. I’ll let you cut me once. But only on this side.” He’d run a fingertip from under his throat to just above his cock. “Just one. So choose with care.”

            Tozer knows better than to touch the skin over Hickey’s heart but he doesn’t break his gaze with Hickey, who gazes steadily back, turns the knife on himself, and presses the tip into the skin where one side of his heart lies. He winces slightly, but drags the knife across to where the other side of his heart lies. Blood swells up and bubbles. This was not a shallow cut. Tozer, alarmed, opens his mouth but Hickey’s hand is viper-fast as he grabs the back of Tozer’s head and pulls it to the cut.

            Tozer’s mouth lands right on the blood and he licks the horizontal line back and forth, back and forth, as it continues to bleed. He can feel drops on his chin as the pungent copper taste floods his mouth. Hickey holds Tozer’s head against his breast and sighs, the rising and falling of his chest such a beautiful feeling against Tozer’s mouth that he licks all the harder, tongue pushing as deep into the cut as it can, trying to taste every bittersweet drop.

            He’s still lapping at it when Hickey pushes Tozer’s head away and says, “Roll over.” Tozer almost whines but he’s too far gone not to do what he’s told. So it’s with shocked pleasure when Hickey presses his chest to Tozer’s back and an even greater miracle when Hickey rubs his body against Tozer’s. Tozer freezes and feels himself harden again as Hickey slings an arm over Tozer’s chest and uses it to pull him closer. But he knows this isn’t going to turn into fucking, at least not in the traditional sense. He holds himself still and in delight as he feels the blood on his back smearing between his body and Hickey’s. When Hickey pulls away, Tozer rolls back without being told.

            The pattern of streaks, some light and some dark, looks better than the red streaks of a sunset. There are patches and lines from Hickey’s neck to the bottom of his torso. Most excitingly, there’s blood on his cock. Tozer would do anything to suck it but Hickey takes both of Tozer’s hands in his own and the thought drops away. He’s never had his hands in Cornelius Hickey’s before, and the gesture somehow feels more intimate than all the movements they made when they were fucking. His heart beats quickly and then a sweet thrill buoys it as Hickey presses Tozer’s palms to his chest and moves them around so that the blood from Tozer’s back that’s been transferred to Hickey’s body finally reaches Tozer’s body again. Hickey reaches around Tozer and spreads two fingers over the still-bleeding stab in his arse. He rubs the blood between his fingers and then, eyes never leaving Tozer’s, runs those finger through his hair. He keeps renewing his fingers with Tozer’s blood and twisting it through his hair. After he’s bloodied the strands on the side of his face, he leans over Tozer and drops his head so that his hair swings above Tozer’s face.

            “Touch me.”

            So Solomon Tozer finally gets to comb his fingers through Cornelius Hickey’s hair and feel the matted strands clumped together and the pieces that somehow didn’t get bloodied hang soft. He takes both hands and runs them roughly through Hickey’s hair, no doubt yanking out strands as he goes and pulling hard in general, but Hickey doesn’t flinch, only keeps his eyes on the ceiling. Finally he shakes his head and says, “Enough.” Tozer untangles his hands and brings them to his own cheeks, dragging his hands lovingly around the curves of his face.

            Hickey watches him, chin resting in one blood-streaked hand. “You had the best day of your life, I think.”

            Tozer sighs happily and drops his hands. Hope wells up faster than blood. “What are the chances of having two best days of my life when I’ve healed?”

            Hickey smiles. “That’s a bit greedy, isn’t it, Mr. Tozer?”

            What? Tozer frowns and wrinkles his nose. “I’m _Mr_. _Tozer_ again? So soon? Not ten minutes ago I had my cock in you.”

            “I think we can safely return to formalities now.”

            “You’re covered in my blood.”

            “That makes no difference, Mr. Tozer.”

            Tozer gets to his knees and kneels close to Hickey but he can’t strike the note of desperation in his voice. “I’ve tasted your blood.”

            “That doesn’t make you special, Mr. Tozer.” Hickey glances toward the opening on the tent, his eyes suddenly unfocused. “You’re the first, but you won’t be the last.”

            Tozer glances over, sees nothing, and looks down at Hickey again. “What do you mean? Are you going to do this with Gibson later?”

            Hickey smiles. “Time to go, Mr. Tozer.”

            Tozer looks down at himself helplessly. “You don’t have a towel? Old clothes? Anything?”

            “Not in this tent. You have your own clothes.”

            Tozer feels the burning in his stomach again but it’s not pleasant this time. “You said I was the man you wanted me to be. Why aren’t you keeping me?”

            Hickey rolls over on his back and rests his hands behind his head. “I am keeping you, though. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going back to Crozier, not even if he were over the ridge. I can sleep well at night knowing you’ll still be here in the morning.”

            Tozer feels all of his cuts burning now. “How in the devil’s name do you know that?” he whispers, his nose inches from Hickey’s.

            Hickey is still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “Because I’m an utter prick to you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Pick up the knife and slit my throat right now.” Hickey nods his head to where the knife lays a foot away. “Go on.”

            Tozer pictures it in his mind: a quick dart of his hand, one hand slamming down on Hickey’s shoulder, the other piercing the knife point on one side of Hickey’s throat and sawing away to the other side. A victory.

            A loss. Tozer’s pieces cleared from the game board.

            And Hickey knows it.

            “Go on.” Hickey tilts his chin up so that his lips are almost brushing Tozer’s.

            Tozer lifts back up on his elbows, finds his clothes, dresses, unties the tent flaps, and steps out into the glaring sun.

            There are a few men leaning against one of the sledges, slightly turned away from him. He could make a quick dash for his tent and they wouldn’t see him. He can feel the blood wetly seeping through his shirt and underclothes. He checks to see that his jacket is completely buttoned, but his hands falter.

            Fuck it.

            He unbuttons his jacket, stuffs it under his arm, suffers the cold, and crunches the gravel as he walks. The men by the sledge turn around. He glances at them. Gibson is watching him, eyes lowering to take in his blood-soaked shirt, then looking back up to Tozer’s eyes. His face seems to falter for a moment, a depth of sorrow suddenly opening in his eyes. And then it passes and he stares blankly at Tozer until Tozer turns his head away and keeps walking.

            No one is leaving.

            He keeps walking.

            He’s furious as all hell.

            The devil take that prick Cornelius Hickey.

The cuts, scratches, and stabs still feel so, _so_ fucking good, and, his pagan idols help him, they always will.

           


End file.
